


New Things

by Robin Hood (kjack89)



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Episode Related, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Ridiculous, Taco Bell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 16:51:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10926009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/Robin%20Hood
Summary: Lunch today?Carisi smiles at the two word message that pings on his cellphone, well aware that he looks like an idiot grinning at a two-word text, but quite frankly not caring.Do I get to pick this time?Only if you promise this will be an end to any and all mentions of the Great Raw Food Debacle of 2017.





	New Things

**Author's Note:**

> My father, bless his heart, "treated" me to lunch at Taco Bell today, and I jokingly asked him if it was punishment for making him eat tofu for dinner the other night.
> 
> That joke naturally led me to think about Carisi's newfound interest in raw food, which in turn led to...well, to this. It was just supposed to be a dumb little drabble and quite frankly I don't know what happened, but anyway.
> 
> Set after S18E18 ~~because my shipper's heart sure as shit didn't miss the look on Carisi's face after Rollins asks when they're gonna meet 'her'~~. 
> 
> Usual disclaimer: I own nothing but the research I did to figure out where exactly you can find a Taco Bell in New York City (surprisingly, they're hard to find. I'm a Chicago girl, though, and we midwesterners love our fast food, so I guess I shouldn't be that surprised that they're more prevalent here). Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos.

_ Lunch today? _

Carisi smiles at the two word message that pings on his cellphone, well aware that he looks like an idiot grinning at a two-word text, but quite frankly not caring.

He’s been smiling like an idiot a lot recently.

He hesitates only a moment before texting back:  _ Thought you had a full day today. _

It took an embarrassingly short amount of time for Barba to break him of his texting habits, the ones that tended to use emojis and single letters in lieu of words. All it really took was Barba pausing by his desk one day during a visit to the precinct, fixing him with that stare and telling him in a low, forcibly pleasant voice, “I have no desire to text with a fifteen-year-old.”

And the implied threat was enough for Carisi to revert to full sentences, with only the occasional, even tasteful emoji.

He decides to break one out after Barba shoots back his reply telling him that his arraignment was canceled and he has a few hours to kill:  _ If you’ve got time, we can always go back to my place ;) _

Barba doesn’t dignify it with a response, and Carisi knows better than to press his luck.  _ Do I get to pick this time? _ he sends instead.

_ Only if you promise this will be an end to any and all mentions of the Great Raw Food Debacle of 2017. _

Carisi can hear the sarcasm in Barba’s voice, even through the text, and he grins, widely enough that Rollins notices. “Hot date?” she asks idly, fixing him with more of a smirk than a smile.

“Something like that,” Carisi says, still grinning.

“Same girl who decided to drag you to a raw food restaurant?”

It’s an innocent-enough question, and one that’s also easy enough for Carisi to deflect. “I get to pick the place this time.”

Rollins nods slowly. “So no longer trying new things?” she quips.

Carisi snorts and shakes his head, but truthfully, it’s given him an idea, and he texts Barba back:  _ Fine, though I can’t make any promises that it’ll never come up again. _

_ Are you going to tell me where we’re going? _ Barba texts in response.

Carisi’s smile turns smug.  _ Nope. It’s a surprise. _ He hesitates before adding, unable to resist the dig,  _ Just be prepared to try something new. _

_ I’m on the edge of my seat in anticipation. _

Again, the sarcasm is clear, but Carisi likes to think that he’s at least piqued Barba’s curiosity, and he’s satisfied beyond words when Barba sends another text not even half an hour later:  _ Give me a hint _ .

This time, it’s Carisi who doesn’t dignify it with a response.

* * *

 

“So you’re really not going to tell me where we’re going?” Barba asks, a little disgruntled, as they head down to the subway. “And we really have to take the  _ subway _ to get there?”

“It’s part of the charm of the place we’re going,” Carisi says cheerfully, answering the latter question first. “And no, I’m not telling you.”

Barba makes a noise that might be called a whine by someone who doesn’t value his life, but Carisi just laughs and chances snaking an arm around Barba’s waist. Barba stiffens, but apparently he assumes that anyone from One Hogan Place who would either see or care doesn’t take the subway because he doesn’t pull away.

What he does do is lean into Carisi and glare up at him. “Wherever we’re going better be worth this fun little trip on public transportation.”

“You’re a snob,” Carisi informs him, something he tells him at least once a week, and before Barba can protest that he’s  _ from the Bronx and thus can hardly be considered a snob _ , Carisi adds, “Which is why I think this little trip will definitely be worth it — at least for me.”

Barba is instantly suspicious. “Why?” he asks. “Where are we going?”

Carisi ignores him as the 1 train jostles along. “C’mon,” he says, taking Barba’s hand as the train groans into Penn Station. “Not too far now.”

Barba’s suspicion only grows when it becomes clear that Carisi has no intention of leaving Penn Station. “You forced me to go all the way to Penn Station just to eat—” He breaks off when he sees what fast food establishment Carisi is tugging him towards. “No. Hell no.”

“C’mon,” Carisi says, dimples flashing as he grins at Barba. “They’ve got these new chicken chips that I wanna try.”

“I am  _ not _ eating at Taco Bell,” Barba splutters. “I’m  _ Cubano _ , it’s practically an insult—”

But Carisi’s not listening to any of his protests, just tugging him into line, and it’s a sign of how completely nonplussed Barba is, that he doesn’t just drop Carisi’s hand and walk away. Instead, he squints up at the menu as if trying to decide which inauthentic menu item will personally wound him least. Carisi smiles disarmingly at the girl behind the counter. “I’ll take a number four, with half Diet Mt. Dew and half regular Mt. Dew, and an order of the Naked Chicken Chips.”

He looks expectantly at Barba, who rolls his eyes and orders a power menu bowl, which, from what Carisi can see, is probably the healthiest thing on the menu. “And to drink?” the cashier asks in a bored voice, clearly as adept at ignoring Barba’s existential crisis as Carisi.

“Iced tea,” Barba says stiffly, and judging by his expression when he takes the first sip after she hands it to him, it’s as foul as he expected. He raises an eyebrow at Carisi, who’s much happier with his Mt. Dew. “Half diet, half regular?” he asks, like it’s an insult on top of everything else.

Carisi makes a face. “Yeah, I can’t stand the taste of diet Mt. Dew, but, you know, calories and stuff.”

“Calories and stuff,” Barba repeats, incredulous. “That’s what you’re concerned about. Not the dubious nature of the food you’re about to eat.”

“Yup,” Carisi says cheerfully, grabbing the tray and ushering Barba over to a booth. “Want any hot sauce?”

Barba just shakes his head and carefully unwraps the provided plastic fork, eyeing the food almost nervously. “You’re unbelievable,” he mutters.

Carisi smirks at him as he unwraps his burrito. “I take that as a compliment, you know.”

They eat in silence for a long moment before Carisi asks, his mouth full of food, “How’s yours?” Barba makes a face and Carisi laughs. “You know, you can admit you like it,” he teases, well aware that he’s got refried beans smeared on next to his lip and making no attempt to clean it up. “I won’t think of you as any less Latino.”

“Thanks for the reassurance,” Barba says dryly, but he’s looking at Carisi with the same crease in his forehead that he gets when examining a new case, like he’s trying to figure him out, and Carisi takes an overly large bite of burrito to stop himself from asking what’s going on in Barba’s head. The answer is never as satisfying as what Carisi can imagine.

But then, Barba sets down his fork and tells Carisi softly, “I love you.”

Carisi almost chokes on his bite of burrito.

It’s not the first time he’s said it, of course, not by a long shot, but there’s something different about it, and not just because it’s spoken like a confession at the Taco Bell in Penn Station. And Barba is looking at Carisi almost nervously, eyeing him like he’s waiting for him to say something back, and then it hits Carisi: it’s not the first time Barba’s said it, but it’s the first time he’s said it somewhere that’s not his turf.

Every previous instance has taken place in Barba’s comfort zone: in his apartment, in his bed, in his office, in all the places where Barba can let his guard down, even if just for a moment. Every time they’re in public, Carisi can practically see Barba’s walls come up, and the ‘I love you’ has to always be implied only — in light touches, lingering glances, all those things that Carisi prizes beyond measure for what they say without needing words.

But this, sitting here at a shitty Taco Bell, eating even shittier faux-Mexican food — somehow, Barba’s walls are lowered just enough, and Carisi has genuinely never thought that the neon purple lighted signs of a Taco Bell could look so beautiful.

Carisi’s suddenly aware that he’s staring at Barba with his mouth hanging open and that his half-chewed burrito is probably on full display, and he flushes and swallows a little too quickly, taking a sip of Mt. Dew to help keep himself from choking to death at Taco Bell. “I love you, too,” he manages, finally, when he’s gulped down half of his Mt. Dew. “But, um, really? Here?”

Barba’s eyes sparkle with an unspoken joke and he picks his fork up again. “Consider it this way,” he says, something crafty in his smile, “if I made this the most memorable trip to Taco Bell ever, you’d never, ever want to set foot in a Taco Bell again. And really, we’re all winners there.”

Carisi throws his head back as he laughs, and when he resurfaces, Barba is grinning at him, but there’s still something unspeakably fond in his gaze. “You have a point there, Counselor,” he says finally.

“Good,” Barba says, businesslike, though he can’t help but add, “because otherwise I’d have to tie you to a chair and force-feed you actual Mexican food.”

“That’s a kink we haven’t discussed yet,” Carisi says, and grins in triumph when the tips of Barba’s ears turn red, the closest he ever gets to blushing. Then, because he too can’t resist, “I’d rather you fed me Cuban food.”

Barba’s smile is soft again, though he shakes his head in mock-exasperation. “That can always be arranged,” he snipes. “Or you could just come to my mother’s for dinner sometime.”

He throws that out as casually as his ‘I love you’, and Carisi is just as flabbergasted, though at least this time he doesn’t have food in his mouth. “Sure,” he says, quickly, like he’s afraid Barba might redact the invitation. “Thanks. I’d like that.”

Somehow, they’ve made more progress in their relationship at a damn Taco Bell in Penn Station than they have in the previous two months, and Carisi is seriously never going to mock Taco Bell again, even if he also never sets foot in one again. He changes the subject. “So I know I promised not to bring up the raw food debacle,” he starts, ignoring Barba when he rolls his eyes so dramatically he’s liable to injure himself, “but I’m gonna have to tell Rollins something about this trip to Taco Bell, since she thinks that I have a secret girlfriend who’s responsible for dragging me to a raw food restaurant.”

Barba tilts his head slightly, and Carisi’s seen this look before, normally when a suspect’s said something on the stand that doesn’t quite add up. “She thinks you have a girlfriend?” he repeats. “And you haven’t...dissuaded her of this notion?”

“No,” Carisi says, calmly, a smile quirking at the edge of his mouth. “I’d rather see her face when she figures it out.” If Barba relaxes at that, it’s imperceptible, and Carisi’s brow furrows. “I mean, we decided we’re not telling anyone, so…”

He trails off and Barba nods, though his expression is carefully neutral. “I know that. But I didn’t think you’d be purposefully misleading your coworkers.”

Carisi raises both eyebrows at that. “I’m not,” he protests, and it’s a touch too defensive, but still. “It’s just not my responsibility to correct her mistaken assumption.” Then, because Barba is still looking at him like that, he adds, “Besides, she knows I’m bi.”

There’s a bit of a challenge there as Carisi raises his chin just slightly, daring Barba to say something, anything about Carisi coming out to his colleagues without explaining that he’s dating their ADA, but Barba just nods, his expression inscrutable. “So what are you going to tell her about this...little trip to Taco Bell?”

Carisi smirks. “That it’s punishment for making me try new things.”

Barba smirks as well. “If you don’t want to try new things, you just have to say the word,” he says innocently. “Of course, that does drastically change what I had planned for after work today…”

There’s just a hint of suggestion in his voice, and Carisi’s mouth goes dry. “No, no, I still wanna try new things,” he says hastily. “Though maybe we can limit the, uh, experimenting to the bedroom.”

“If you insist,” Barba says, still smirking.

And as bizarre as it may seem, given the location, given the food, given the most recent topic of conversation, this lunch has been as close to perfect as Carisi thinks it could possibly be, and his chest feels warm as he gazes at Barba. So he hesitates for only a moment before lifting his Mt. Dew in a toast. “To Taco Bell,” he says, simply.

Barba rolls his eyes again, but when Carisi turns the puppy-dog eyes on him, he sighs and lifts his iced tea. “To Taco Bell,” he echoes. “May we never see this place again.”

“Hear, hear,” Carisi says, grinning.

His grin lasts all the way back to the precinct, weathering Rollins’ good-natured ribbing and even the two texts Barba sends him:

_ Thanks for lunch, I guess. _

Followed almost instantly by:  _ But you’re never allowed to pick where we eat again. _

It’s a mostly-hollow threat, and Carisi’s grin doesn’t fade as he texts back:  _ Love you, too. _


End file.
